You Never Know.....

I went for a walk to the store w/ Arianna last night.

She brought along a purse she had found, and stuffed w/ various things to take along on the walk. She was going through the list of what she brought, and pulled out this little toy plastic harp.

She gave me the following explanation:

"Oh, and I brought along this harp. *pause* Because you NEVER know when you might need to make an animal fall asleep."

I guess I can't argue w/ that logic.....

My Grandma Vs. The Bees

Dave posted about his problem w/ wasps, and that reminded me about a story my dad told when I was growing up. It's pretty funny, so I thought I would share.

Now, my dad is in his 80's. So, he grew up in the depression, etc. In the mid to late '30's, they were living out in the country on a farm outside Eugene, Oregon. They had the traveling vacuum salesman in that day, and one day my grandpa splurged and bought my grandma one of those Electrolux canister vacuums when the vacuum guy came calling.

My grandma was ecstatic. She'd never had a vacuum cleaner before, and thought that this electric machine was some sort of mythical wonder.

One day, my dad and his brother were going out the back door, and unbeknownst to them, a swarm of yellow jackets had built a nest above the door. So, the slamming of the screen door irritated the bees, and they attacked, stinging the kids. They ran inside, told their mom what had happened, and an idea formed in her head. If the vacuum sucked up everything else, why couldn't it suck up the bees? Problem solved!

So, she snuck outside with her wonder machine, stuck the nozzle up to the hive, and turned on the vacuum. Confused and angry bees came zooming out of the hive, trying to figure out what the noise was, and the minute they appeared.....*ZOOP*....up the vacuum they went. My grandma was SO proud of herself, and in a few minutes, the bees were dispatched into the inner sanctum of her beloved vacuum.

Only, apparently they weren't dead. She could hear them buzzing around angrily inside. Hmm...this posed a huge problem. She would not be able to clean out the vacuum w/o being attacked by a swarm of violated bees. And....what if they figured out how to fly up the hose??

Oh no, now she was starting to panic....what to do??

So, she thought about it, and decided that maybe she should try to find something to kill the bees while they were still inside the vacuum. She set about finding various rat poisons, cleaning solvents, any version of powdered death she could find. She poured a little of each onto the ground and set about vacuuming up each little pile, figuring ONE of the powders would kill the bees.

Meanwhile, my dad's cocker spaniel had wandered over, and sat a distance away, watching the proceedings w/ a wary eye.

Now, my grandma did not take into consideration what might happen if you mix various chemicals, and then apply heat....like the heat of the motor of the vacuum. She started sucking up the different powders, when all of the sudden.....

*BOOOOOM!!*

The canister of the vacuum went flying like a missile across the yard, disengaging itself from the hose my grandma was holding. She stood there, holding the limp hose, watching in open mouthed astonishment as the canister flew across the yard and hit their cocker spaniel square in his little cocker butt.

He jumped up in the air a few feet, and went yelping out into the field, terrorized by the flying vacuum of death.

My grandma was crushed. Not only had she destroyed her precious vacuum, and caused said vacuum to attack her dog, but she was unsure if she had actually even managed to KILL the bees. She wasn't about to go check, so she left the smoking canister where it landed, and went inside, dejected.

When my grandpa got home, she tearfully told him what had happened, and he alternated from laughing hysterically to being upset that she'd destroyed something which had cost him a lot of money. He figured he'd better go see if she actually accomplished killing the bees, and cautiously crept up to the canister. A few bees were buzzing drunkenly around it, but they seemed dazed. He figured he could probably move the canister, so he got a bag, put the canister in it, and took it out to a far field where he dumped it.

He eventually got my grandma another vacuum, with the strict instructions that she NEVER try anything like that again.

Only problem was, that whenever she decided to vacuum, the dog would go TEARING out of the house, yelping all the way, and wouldn't return for a few hours.

Guess I Won't Have To Worry About Him Getting The Flu

Last night, I was bringing Jack downstairs, and caught a whiff of what smelled like granny perfume.

Intrigued, I sniffed his hair. Yup, definately coming from his hair. Granny Perfume?? What the heck?

So, I went into the livingroom and asked Arianna: "Hey, why does your brother smell like perfume?" Thinking maybe she put some of her lotion on him, or something.

She got this look...you know the "Oh, shit! I've been found out. Lie! Lie quickly!!!" and responded w/ "Um....I dunno...?"

With a sense of foreboding, I brought out the "Mom of DOOOOM!" voice. "ARIANNA! WHY does your brother smell like perfume??"

So, she responded, "Oh, ok! It's because I sprayed him w/ that ant spray."

*MOMENTARY HORROR!!!*

Me- "ANT SPRAY?? You sprayed him with ANT SPR.....Wait....we don't have ant spray. What are you talking about??"

Arianna- "That stuff you sometimes kill ants with. You know, the stuff that smells like apples."

*HORROR RETURNING!!*

Me- "LYSOL??? You sprayed your brother w/ LYSOL?? When was this??"

Arianna- *sensing danger* "Um...earlier? When I told you I killed those ants by the sliding glass door."

Me- "That was this AFTERNOON! That was HOURS ago! You failed to mention to me that you ALSO SPRAYED YOUR BROTHER!!"

Arianna- "Wellll......"

Me- "What on earth posessed you to spray YOUR BROTHER w/ LYSOL??"

Arianna- "He smelled."

Sooo.....after an immediate washing of Jack, which I'm not sure really mattered, because it had been about 6 hours since he was....disinfected....a little "talk" with Arianna was in order.

Needless to say, she won't be spraying her brother w/ various cleaning supplies anytime soon.
Seriously....what the hell?? It was just the disinfectant spray, and not like heavy-duty industrial cleaner, so he's fine....but...what the hell??? "He SMELLED"??

Ay Yi Yi...

Dear Woman Walking Through Wal-Mart:

While I applaud your amazing body, I think there are better ways to attain it than by staring at the diet shakes, and then exclaiming loudly "It's just easier NOT to eat, than eat these things!" before walking away without putting any said shakes in your cart.

While your fashion sense may be "in", I think that skin tight camouflage capris w/ scrunchy legs and little bows (on camo??), 4 inch wedge sandals, ripped jean jacket, and that glittery tank top exposing your huge bosoms MIGHT be dressing a just a little too young...
.
You know....considering when the teenage boys that are drooling after you, and eventually work their way from ogling your body to actually seeing your face realize that you are old enough to be THEIR GRANDMA!!!

Seriously.

You are causing the rise in therapy costs for 13-16 year old boys.

I realize you're trying to hold on to your youth....but, you may be pushing it just a WEE bit too far.....

After I got past the "outfit", your hair, which has been permed, colored & highlighted, teased, gelled, and curling ironed into extreme submission (and good chance it will fall out in 2-5 years, btw.), the 7 inches of foundation, blush, mascara, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and lipstick you're wearing, and the OBVIOUS chin and eye work you've had done (bet your plastic surgeon LOVES you!), it only took me about 2.5 seconds to realize that you're pushing your mid 50's.

Honestly, who do you think you're fooling?

Rule #1 for middle age- When you're sharing clothes w/ your 16 year old grand-daughter, MAYBE it's time to look into shopping somewhere other than the junior dept at the Limited.

I'm just sayin'.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Fellow Shopper

Got Bruises?

I ran into a doorframe (shut up) which got me thinking about bruises.

I've never been one to bruise. I mean, at least I don't COLORIZE. I can FEEL that I've obtained a bruise, because of the big "OW!" factor going on under my skin, but for some reason, I don't get bruises that actually turn colors. For that reason, no one ever believes that I've really hurt myself. It's actually kind-of annoying. If I've managed to take out an entire wall w/ my shoulder, God DAMN IT I want something to show for it!!

I've never understood it. I'm almost see through pale. You'd think I'd bruise really EASILY...but, no....my skin just stays white. Big, giant owie on my shoulder....I swear!! You just can't see it!! Anybody else have this "problem"?

But, than I was thinking...every once in a great while, the planets will allign, and I'll get a spectacular bruise. This reminded me of when I lived in Colorado.

I worked in a deli at the local supermarket. We were like a mini restaurant. We did lots of cooking from scratch, as well as the usual deli stuff. So, it was really crowded in our little area. We had this sandwich cart...you know, w/ the metal lid you'd lift up to reveal all the condiments and veggies? It had a fridge underneath, and a cutting area on it, so it was pretty....substantial.
One day, I was running around w/ my head cut off, and I bailed out of the walk-in cooler and ran STRAIGHT into the corner of the sandwich cart. It did not move. So, I impacted pretty hard.

Now, I'm fairly tall. So, the cart caught me SQUARELY in the Hoo-Ha.

Oh.My.GOD, the PAIN!!!

With my eyes tearing up, I had to finish helping the customer I was waiting on BEFORE I managed to mortally injure my Va-Jay-Jay. I could not scream the profanities I was thinking. My friend/coworker Josh, who had not seen my glorious manuever, still managed to realize something was amiss, and kept looking at me all concerned like.

I finished up w/ the customer, motioned to him that I was walking to the back of the store, and went to the back hallway. Where I let loose w/ a stream of profanities. Josh showed up momentarily, "What the hell??"

I told him what happened, and if you could've seen the expression on his face....priceless. Instantly his hands were covering his own "jewels" in sympathy and horror.

"Jesus Christ!! Are you Okay?? You'd better go to the restroom and see if you're mortally wounded. I'll cover for you. Eeech!! *more protective covering of himself* I'm sooo glad I'm taller than you. Can you imagine if that happened to me?? I'd be out for the count!"

So, I limped up to the front of the store, not expecting much, because I don't bruise, remember? I get to the bathroom, and inspect the injury.

Jesus H. Christ!! What was I saying about not bruising?? Yeah, I take it back. My whole Hoo-ha "area" was now completely black...with dark purplish edging. This was a bruise for the ages!!! Holy cork! But, damn it! It was in an area I couldn't actually SHOW anyone. (Well, at least w/o getting fired.) I was so disappointed.

So, I went back, told Josh the colorful story, which was met w/ MORE protective covering of his package, and a look of pure horror.....Immediately followed by insane laughter. Bastard. So, of course I started laughing, too. I mean, only I could manage to obtain such a horrific injury to my flippin' HOO-HA!!

I finished out the day, and for the most part had put my big owie out of my head. I went home, and promptly forgot about it.

I was getting undressed for bed, later that night, and I hear Martin scream "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT???". I look at him, and he's staring in horror at my lower quadrant. Oh, yeah. I tell him what happened, and he's still dumbstruck w/ horror.

"Holy shit, does that hurt??"

"Um, yeah. I'm thinking sex is out of the picture for a few weeks."

"That's okay. I'm pretty sure I won't be interested for at least a few weeks!!"

(It took about that long for the bruise to go away, too...)

False Advertising??

Ok, I realize I just posted, but this is priceless.

Martin took a shower a while ago, and was puttering around the house for a couple hours. He came upstairs just a minute ago, and laid down next to me. I caught a glimpse of something funky going on w/ his neck as he laid down. It was almost like he'd gotten some writing tattoo'd on his neck.

Me- "WTF is on your neck??" *moves neckline of his hoodie to get a better view*

Him- "What?"

Me- *Hysterical Laughter* "G-g-g-GO look at yourself in the mirror!!"

Him- *Dutifully heads towards the bathroom* "OOOH!! Is THAT what that feeling was?? I kept thinking I was getting a sore throat. I kept feeling at that spot, wondering why it felt so tight!"

Me- *More laughter at his expense*

What "THAT" was, was one of those stickers they put on the front of tee-shirts. You know the long sticker that says repeatedly what size the shirt is? This one was proudly proclaiming that Martin was "XL", about 7 times over.

Me- "Sooo......I guess you think you're Xtra Large, eh?"

Him- "Shut up."

Holy Muffin Top, Batman!

Dear Girl Walking in Front of McDonald's-

I know you think wearing track pants is "OH SO FASHIONABLE", and I know you think wearing an itty-bitty zip up hoodie with the track pants is "HOTTT".

However, when you decide to forgo wearing a shirt UNDERNEATH the hoodie, and that hoodie is NOT quite long enough to reach the top of the track pants, since they're the low-riding kind, I have just one request:

PLEASE LOOK IN THE MIRROR BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE!!!

Seriously.

Did you NOT see the fact that your gut hangs out over the top of the pants? And it's not like the teeny bopper, tight pants/ "muffin top" effect (which I also can't stand), because I've seen enough teenage fat being Squeeeezed out the top of pants to be able to now just roll my eyes at it.

However, you were a whole different entity. One which I feel needs to be addressed. Your fat was not being squeeeezed out the top. Noooo, it was just....there. Hanging limply over the top of your elastic waistband. Moving merrily with every step you took. Swishing with each hip sway. It was strangely hypnotic. And, judging by the faces of the people in cars driving by, I was not the only one that was horrified fascinated with your display.

So, in the interest of avoiding a future 15 car pile-up, can you please look into purchasing a few tee-shirts?

Thank You,
A Concerned Citizen in the McDonald's Drive Thru.

For My Daughter- A Lesson On How To Wake Your Mother Up.

(I should preface this with the fact that I read a LOT of Stephen King. This will make sense later.)

Dear Arianna-

If you want to wake mommy up, there are a few ways that are acceptable.
Mommy is a light sleeper, so you can wake her up by shaking her, talking to her, or even though this way is slightly creepy, she'll even accept you standing next to her and STARING at her until she wakes up.

However, there is one way that she never, ever, EVER wants you to wake her up again.
If you have snuck into the bedroom without anyone knowing, and have decided to sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed....and EVEN IF mommy IS sleeping on her stomach with her feet dangling off the end of the bed where you can see them above you....never, EVER, EVER again decide to reach up, grab one of those feet and tug on it.

After mommy has crawled out of her skin, and crawled UP the wall to get away from the monster under her bed, she will be VERY, VERY upset with you.

Think of this a lesson learned...

Love,
Mommy

Yay! Drunken Monkeys!!*

*I should really have a category for "Stupid Martin Tricks".

Anyhow, the name of the title comes from yesterday, after Martin agreed to give Jack a shower. He yelled "Hey, bring me the baby" from the bathroom, and SOMEHOW I heard "Yay! Drunken Monkeys!". It also made me wonder exactly WHAT he was doing in the shower, to inspire such an excited exclamation.

I also thought it was a very appropriate title, given what happened last night:
We went to our friends' house to play poker. They have 3 kids, and add our 2, and it's unorganized chaos in that house. Martin and "Male Friend" went to get mexican food. They also decided to stop by the liquor store. When they got back, I decided I didn't really want mexican, as I'd had it about 3 days in a row, so I drove myself to the Thai place.
When I got back w/ my food, the boys were nicely toasted. Expensive Scotch Whiskey will do that to you...fast.

So, as I sat down at the table to eat, the following chaos ensued:

Somehow, in Martin's drunken stupor, as he was standing by the poker table, he turned around and decided that Jack's infant carseat, that was sitting on the FLOOR, had somehow morphed into a full size adult chair. Therefore, he decided to sit on it.

As he fell (naturally) backwards, the contents of the tumbler of scotch he was holding were flung sideways.....STRAIGHT into Jack's face....who was innocently laying on the floor on the other side of the table.

Now, as I'm sitting at the table, I'm kind-of in that state where I see everything happening, but I'm helpless to stop it. I see Martin fall, and I look over at Jack, and this is the scene as played out on Jack's face:

"Oh look, Dad is trying to sit in my carseat. Haha! He's falling, that's funn.....WHOA...WTF IS ON MY FACE?? OH SHIT! IT BURNS!! I'M GOING TO SCREAM NOW!! LOUDLY!!"

So, I run over and scoop Jack up, take him to the sink, and start washing his face off, mad because my baby just had Scotch thrown in his eyes, but kind-of laughing, because what a friggen comedy of errors!!

I get the Scotch off, and Jack's cries have changed from "Ow!" to pure, rightous fury, so I know he's alright. Then Martin decides to help. He proceeds to dump water over the top of Jack's head....igniting even MORE screams of pure fury.

*sigh*

I got the whole thing eventually calmed down, but I do believe that this will be a moment that will be forever memorialized in my mind...and WILL be brought up as the situation calls for it.
"Hey Martin....remember when you nearly blinded your son...?"

Boop-Boop-de-AAAAGH!!

Arianna has an aversion to sleeping in her room. She either flat out refuses, or she sneaks into mine in the middle of the night...bringing along whatever she was sleeping w/ that night.
So, this morning, I wake up...and in my sleep induced haze, as I gaze down over the side of the bed, I see this:

Holy Shit! I've never woken up so fast. And, I think now I've acquired a new phobia.